Can't Face The Dark Without You
by CuriosityID
Summary: Title taken from the song "Without You" by Breaking Benjamin. After Bruce's death, Dick and Damian realize that they're going through the same struggle to be a good soldier.


It's been raining for five hours now. It was raining when we left and it still taps restlessly against the Manor window panes. It's just another constant to add to the harsh tension, background noise. I try to hold Damian closer to me as I walk up the stairs to his bedroom when the thunder crashes sharply and he screams into my shoulder. There's nothing much else to do than wait. The fear toxin antidote should go into effect at any moment.

It was pretty careless, pretty stupid of Damian to basically walk into that trap. I don't even know how the thugs got the toxin on their hands anyway, and it's an investigation for another day, another night. I didn't even log in the reports, didn't just give Damian to Alfred to handle, and get down to business like maybe a good Batman should.

It was one of Damian's favorite boasts; he had never been directly attacked with fear toxin. It's not a sign of weakness or anything like that, everybody's gotten it, including Bruce. I barely remember my first experience with it; apparently I froze up in eerie silence. Bruce told me that Jason nearly stopped breathing. And I was there when he had to sedate Tim.

Damian's upheld record is being crushed tonight. To dust and ashes.

Everything crashes tonight.

He was so miserable, sitting in the Batmobile, crying and screaming because he didn't see me. He saw a monster, someone trying to attack him. Monster in human form or vice versa, I was the enemy to him and I just barely dodged some cleverly aimed thrusts from his fists. And later the batarang in his belt. Two batarangs.

Just barely.

So I got out of the suit as quickly as I could and only for a few minutes did I let poor Alfie deal with him. It'd be almost cruel to do that, to either one of them.

He needs me even now.

He doesn't have a mother and he's just lost his father...our father. And maybe that was why he was so reckless tonight; he's just trying to get built up anger and grief out of him and it translates as aggression and he just wasn't paying attention. That's one idea.

Tim's gone. I haven't seen him in forever it seems. I wonder what he will do on a night like this. When he's not home, everything is so quiet because Damian doesn't have a direct target and he is bored. Days are long and silent and I try to reach out to him but I can't. There are walls sky-high between him and the rest of us and he won't even look through the cracks to _me_.

_He's all I've got._

I never hear him, he has basically stopped speaking on a rational level to Alfred and me, turning to close himself into his room, silencing the rest of the world by living in the meaningful created by the sounds coming from his earbuds. He's locking himself away.

He throws tantrums when he doesn't get what he wants, yells death threats and slams doors. I won't see him for hours.

But there are sketches on the desk I see when I sneak into his room at night, pictures of the things that belonged to Bruce, pens and books and the cowl and cape. I find him sometimes sitting on Bruce's bed, staring into space, and no matter what he says, he wants his stranger father back.

He's lives with strangers he doesn't trust.

And I've never seen a tear slip down his face, but it all changes tonight.

He was screaming but now when we reach his bedroom, the cries of terror blend into sobs of heartbreak. He stops trying to wrest himself from my hold and wraps his arms around my neck. I pause for a moment and then dare to sit down on his bed. After a moment, I begin to rock back and forth. Feel the tears melting into my t-shirt. Hear him struggle to breathe.

The panic he's going through is almost contagious.

The closeness and darkness of this room feels like it's pressing in on us, threatening to suffocate and strangle, and it's totally up to me to protect Damian. The single lamp at his bedside is supposed to be emanating any light but it seems weak and tired. Emotions are raw and insecure, because when he cries like that, I feel anger and need and fear all at a great once.

_We're not safe. _

_We have no one but each other._

"Don't leave me, Dick," Damian gasps, hands shaking on my shoulders. I heard my own name. I run my fingers through his hair and try to breathe. Keep on breathing, you have to be the strong one now, you have to be the hero. He needs a hero.

Just shut up and don't feel until he can too. It's too hard.

"I'm not going anywhere, little D," I whisper. He's nearly choking me.

"Don't go-"

"I'm here, buddy."

The rain still slams on the window like it's trying to break in. Damian pulls back only slightly, scans the room and in recognition of his bedroom starts to breathe only a little easier. He's still gripping my t-shirt, tears streak his face, brilliant blue eyes that are mirrors of Bruce's (_just imagine, in a way he's still here!). _They're clearing from madness and now full of vulnerability, and I remember that he's only a child in desperate need of love, hope and family.

And for the thousandth time since Bruce died, I feel empty and incapable of raising him.

Alone.

Everything really is crashing down on us.

"I can't do this, Grayson," he whispers it in the open. My old name is back again, and so I'm getting my baby brother back again. "I can't do it anymore."

"Can't do what anymore?" I ask, still holding him. Maybe he'll explain how I feel too.

"Can't-can't be the strong soldier you'd want me to be anymore, I've _tried._ I've been trying for so long...ever since Father died not to feel...and - and I can't doit anymore!"

So his eyes mirror Bruce's, but his struggle mirrors mine.

_There's only one way out of this._

"Then _feel_, baby," I cup his face in my hands, and this time, it's okay to cry. "It's okay to feel."

I say it for both of us.

He closes his eyes and crashes hard against me, crying the rest of himself out, until I hear his breathing steady, and the sounds of sniffling coming farther in between each other.

I don't say anything more, but start to rub his back, just trying to get him to wind down a little. The antidote will make him tired anyway and he won't wake up till mid-morning tomorrow, but I'd sooner he think that he fell asleep on his own.

I start to move him slightly, about to move him into his bed, until he jerks up and whispers in fear, "No! Don't go!"

"I'm here," I manage to smile. I stand, with him supported in my arms, glance up at the window when lightning flickers, white light and black shadows in the room. He buries himself closer.

"I...I saw things," he says as I carefully lay him down on the bed and pull up the blankets around him. "You...you didn't look like...you. And everything was becoming so _dark_."

_He's opening up again. _"Yeah, that's fear toxin for you," I whisper, stretching out next to him on top of the blankets. "But it's okay now, none of that was real."

He locks his eyes on me and then slowly nods. It's a leap of faith for him.

I prop myself up a little and kiss the top of his head, downy black hair against my lips, and he doesn't fight me. I'll admit, I expected him to slap me across the face and declare me an illusion of toxin running in his veins.

But I hear him sigh, and when I look down at him, his eyes are closed, eyebrows down (_just like Bruce_), an expression of slight worry...but he's quiet and resting. Overall trust.

I stay there until he falls asleep.

And in the morning, the sun breaks through rain-streaked window panes and the sky is blue again.


End file.
